


Second Take

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Character Bleed, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jensen had been dreading this since the moment he read through the script.</p><p>Destiel or DeanCas or whatever the fans called it nowadays was actually happening.</p><p>He was going to have to kiss Misha fucking Collins."</p><p>***</p><p>Wherein Destiel becomes canon, and Jensen and Misha face the consequences of their first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Take

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of caveats to this. Yes, it's my first Cockles fic. I'm sorry if I lose subscribers over this, but I wrote it as less speculation on the personal lives of our favorite actors and more as an evaluation of the actor persona and the concept of character bleed. I also enjoy writing stories about healthy polyamorous relationships.
> 
> I tried to stay as accurate as I could to the facts we know, but I'm sure I got some of it wrong. You can correct me if you want but I probably won't fix it, because this is intentionally a fictional piece, so the truth doesn't matter all that much. 
> 
> I also tried to stay very respectful of the public relationships involved. I adore both Danneel and Vicki and I am fully supportive of them.
> 
> Please understand that my personal opinions are not in this fic. Of course I think Jensen is worthy of an Oscar and of course I think Misha would be an easy man to love. I wrote it from what I imagine their self-perspectives are, not from my perspectives of them. I still may have personally projected onto them a bit, but that's bound to happen with everything I write. 
> 
> I'm sure I'll get some hate over this, and I'm prepared for that. It's a story I wanted to tell, and I stand by that.
> 
> Lastly, while this may feel real, I assure you I made all of it up. I'm really just a douchebag banker with a psych degree.

Jensen had been dreading this since the moment he read through the script.

Destiel or DeanCas or whatever the fans called it nowadays was actually happening.

He was going to have to kiss Misha fucking Collins.

And the worst part?

Misha was directing the episode.

It felt like the world was caving in on Jensen, who had finally gotten a fucking rope around his life. He had a good, steady paycheck; he had a wife, the goddamn saint she was, beauty queen and kind and perfect in every way— Jensen even found her flaws endearing, like how she would always just _ask_ if she didn't understand something instead of figuring it out, which, hey, was irritating, but also adorable— and she was just all-around way too good for him; and then there was JJ, who was so... Jensen didn't have the words for how much he loved his daughter. She was everything he'd ever wanted in life, acting and directing and fame be damned. He was meant to be a father and a husband, a family man.

Successful family men, whose livelihood was based entirely on pretending to be other people, did not get this frazzled about the idea of kissing on screen.

It was fake. It was all fake. That's what his therapist always reminded him, when he would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat in his Vancouver apartment, struggling to breathe, convinced Sam, or Jared, or whoever was dying. All of it just felt so damn _real_ sometimes, demons and ghosts and total fucking nonsense. It twisted and pulled at the edges of his mind, and he couldn't fucking handle it sometimes. He had no idea when he started this gig that he was in for the long haul, over ten years of playing the same damn character, who became so nuanced that the line between Jensen and Dean faded over time. There was no real difference between them, really. Like Dean, Jensen had his fair share of unresolved daddy issues. They'd both been thrown into careers at such an early age that it never felt like they had another choice.

Jensen had been signing autographs for as long as he could remember. He was constantly in a state of being told how to position his body and his face, how and where to move, what to do and think. And for what? Entertainment for the masses, like a fucking puppet. Sometimes he didn't feel like a person. He was two-dimensional, an image on screen for people to paint themselves onto.

Like Dean and hunting, being consumed by an audience was the only life Jensen ever knew.

His therapist told him to focus on the things that made him happy. That was easy: Danneel and JJ. Every once in a while, a fan would come along and talk about how Jensen had influenced their life in some way, and that made him feel pretty good too. But otherwise, this show was becoming just a paycheck for him, and it was ripping him apart at the seams. It wasn't worth the mental toll anymore.

Danneel was worried about him. He missed his daughter. He missed his friends. He just wanted to be able to walk down the fucking street without signing autographs, getting pictures taken, and worrying about the paparazzi. This wasn't the life he wanted for himself.

What was more fucked up was that he still got a thrill down his spine when his agent sent him another audition. He still had this burning feeling in his gut to go higher, get into movies, star in summer blockbusters. It was so dumb that he had his fucking Oscar speech prepared in his head even though that would never happen in a million years. Still, he let himself imagine it, holding the golden statue on stage and thanking his family, the team he worked with, his mother and father for pushing him to greatness.

He sat in his trailer, in makeup and costume, staring at his watch and clicking a pen for lack of being able to run his hands through his hair or touch his face. He had to focus on getting into character, which was normally as easy as breathing after a decade of playing the same role.

Jensen just couldn't convince himself that it would be _Dean_ kissing _Castiel_ and not _Jensen_ kissing _Misha_.

This problem had never happened to him before. Sure, kissing and sex scenes in front of the camera were never a fucking cakewalk, not when the only lips he ever promised to touch again were his wife's, but it was all just part of the job. His justification— actually, Danneel's justification when they first talked about it— was that he wasn't himself when he was on screen. He was always someone else, and that someone else was the one voraciously making out with whoever he was told to make out with.

He hadn't told Danneel he'd have to kiss Misha. He signed a contract that it was to be kept explicitly under wraps, and there would be hell to pay if he told anyone, even God Himself. He was pretty sure most of the crew didn't even know yet. It was obvious that it would happen eventually, Dean and Cas, but it was still a big fucking deal for everyone; for the history of television, even, that a canonically straight, masculine character would eventually learn to seek emotional and sexual gratification from another man, even if that man was otherworldly in some way.

It hadn't been done often before, not in this genre, and certainly not on network television.

That's why Jensen was so riled up. It had to be. It was the _pressure_ on him to make this great. To make this what everyone knew it really was.

It had nothing to do with the depth of Misha's eyes and the fact that even after all these years, Jensen still had no idea who the guy really was.

Sure, they'd had long, deep, philosophical discussions between lengthy takes waiting for their scenes. They'd broken all semblance of physical barriers having to work in such close quarters and do take after take of the same scene hanging off of one another. Jensen could write a damn book about the guy if he had to, but it would still just be the facts, the same things everyone else knew about him.

It was just impossible to really _know_ a guy like Misha, because he was a different person for everyone he made eye contact with. His method of acting was different than anything Jensen had ever seen. Like everything about him, it was weird, yet natural, and it was something the entire cast and crew had to get used to. Jensen was thankful they did, because Castiel's character brought a completely different dynamic to the show, and was honestly probably the only reason they were still on.

Jensen had brought this up to his therapist, who told him Misha probably had something called a "high self-monitor," which was common. She also called it having a cocktail personality, the ability to constantly adapt to new environments. It was like Misha was a mirror, always reflecting back what he saw to give everyone a very specific, very intentional, very personal piece of himself.

But no one could ever see the full picture. He was larger than life in every sense of the phrase.

No one else minded it as much as Jensen did. It didn't ruffle anyone else's feathers, and maybe that was because Jensen was sort of the same way. He'd grown over the years to simply... be what everyone else wanted him to be, and never got the chance to be himself. It seemed like Misha was just naturally that way, though, so the issue between them was the direct result of putting two mirrors in front of each other.

Without anything to reflect, what did the mirrors show?

Maybe that was why Misha and Jensen had always been drawn to each other as equally as they'd sort of aggressively disliked one another. It was really hard adapting to someone so much like himself but with such a different personal history. Jensen often wondered if he would have turned out even more like Misha if he'd had to go through the same shit: the family issues, the poverty, the bullying. He wondered what he would have been like if he'd gotten the same kind of liberal arts education Misha had instead of dodging college altogether to pursue acting.

On one hand, he admired Misha, and on the other hand, he kind of couldn't stand him. He hated that the one thing he'd always been great at— reading people, because it was part of the damn job description— utterly failed him when it came to this guy.

Of course he was openly polyamorous to boot, which just boggled Jensen to no end. He'd even met Misha's girlfriend once at an event. It was so weird seeing him hand-in-hand with someone other than Vicki, knowing all parties involved were totally cool with it. He stared at her in this way he had, unnerving, like he was seeing right _through_ her. When he looked at Jensen like that, it always made him feel exposed and vulnerable, like all of his secrets were etched on his face— not that he really had any, other than the occasional light drug usage and the fact that he had Taylor Swift's discography loaded onto his phone.

The worst part was, even though Jensen couldn't even remember her name, he'd gotten this harsh pang of jealousy when he saw them together. He never felt that when he saw Misha and Vicki together, maybe because whatever was between them was so solid that it was utterly unshakeable, but it was different with this other girl, who was smart and young and blond and— fucking _hell_ , Jensen couldn't kiss Misha on camera. Or behind the camera. Or ever. There was just no way this was going to happen.

He clicked his pen a few more times. It shook in his hands which he balled into fists to keep from trembling. He hadn't been this nervous since his Captain America audition. And before that, when he proposed to Danneel.

There was a knock on his trailer door.

"Come in," he called.

Jared opened the door, eyebrows raised. "You're up."

Jensen nodded. "Thanks. I'll be right there."

Jared gave him a knowing look and a small smile before closing the door. For a big, hot-headed brute, Jared was surprisingly intuitive. Then again, maybe that was because they'd spent the better part of the last ten years pretending to be brothers.

Jensen took a deep breath and set his pen down. He cracked his knuckles to avoid running a hand over Dean Winchester's face, which was just like Jensen's face sans freckles and blemishes and the pimple he had on the left side of his forehead. It also kept him from running his hand through Dean's hair, which was Jensen's except perpetually gelled to the point where it didn't even move. Jensen was just thankful that Dean wore comfortable clothes and shoes, because he didn't know how he would have survived the past ten years if Dean had a thing for high heels.

He stood and crossed his trailer, hand hesitating in front of the knob, and squared his shoulders. He balled his hand into a fist again and straightened his posture, lowered his chin slightly and narrowed his eyes. Aloud, he said, "There ain't no me if there ain't no you," hearing Dean's voice escape his lips, and it consoled him in a way that little else could, knowing that despite his doubts and fears, he knew how to turn into someone else, that he _was_ Dean Winchester, and he was damn good at it.

Dean Winchester was in love with Castiel. That didn't have to reflect on Jensen. It had nothing to do with him.

At least, that was what he told himself before opening the door to his trailer to film his next scene.

***

Misha was so fucking thankful he was directing this episode.

For one, he didn't trust anyone else with it. Maybe that made him a narcissist— which he would never deny. Vicki repeatedly reminded him that he needed to keep his growing sense of vanity in check, that despite his fame, everything was still about the greater good and not his god-complex. He wanted Destiel made canon as much as the next fan of the show, after all. He understood its underlying importance not just for the show, but for the resonance it would create in the LGBT community. Sure, the show had a cult following, but that cult was steadily growing. They had the opportunity to make history here, and Misha was fucking _thrilled_ they were taking it. It was the first time in years he was genuinely thankful for the show itself and not just what it did for what had been his struggling acting career.

Secondly, and probably most importantly, it took his mind off the fact that he was about to _kiss Jensen Ackles._

He was so busy running between makeup and costume and being behind the camera and in front of the camera and rehearsing his lines and practicing his choreography for his fight scenes that he didn't have the opportunity to dwell endlessly on the topic. During the few seconds apiece he had of quiet during the days of filming the episode, he took solace in his rampant Twitter addiction, scrolling through his replies and mentions and tags. There was no way he could catch all of them— there were millions— but he caught enough of them to get a general sense of what was happening in the fandom on a given day. It was easy to quickly filter through the "OMG ily"s and "MISHA"s to get to the real content and see what people were actually saying about him. There was always plenty of hate to keep him in check, and the saddest part was that even with all the love he received— which he appreciated but didn't deserve an ounce of— the hate always felt more real to him. He agreed with the people who hated him. Vicki helped him keep that in check too: he was bound to amass hatred when his vendetta involved fucking up the status quo. It was what he got for disturbing the careful balance of things.

She reminded him it was worth it, too.

He had no idea where he'd be without her. She was, and had always been, his entire world, his center of gravity, the force that kept him grounded when his head ran off into a spiral of mania with flickers of intense self-loathing.

Misha was not an easy man to love— he was comprised of extreme emotions he could never keep in check, manipulative and cunning in a way that good people just weren't, filled with conflicting ideals and an ego the size of Texas— but Vicki loved him anyway, and always would. Even on days like today, when his world was a mess of chaos and intensity, he knew that she was alive in the world, and that was all that really mattered.

It was apparent to Misha what was happening between he and Jensen, but he had no idea how Jensen felt about that. The problem with actors, the good ones at least, was that no one could ever tell what they were really thinking or feeling. There was no way to parse their words, if what they were saying was the truth or just their perception of what people wanted to hear for the sake of their careers. It was the life of the business, and Misha could never tell the difference between friendship and networking.

He didn't regret his decision to become an actor, because the steady climb of his fame allowed him to fuel his philanthropic endeavors, but without that, he wondered if he could have continued as a carpenter as his primary profession, writing on the side, encouraging Vicki through school while he stayed home and took care of the kids.

Perhaps if he were a more selfish man, that would have been his life. But he had a mission, and the only way to spread good to the largest number of people possible was to bottle his charisma and sell it, buy into his delusions of grandeur and be a leader. So that was what he did, and there was no use looking back.

The attraction between he and Jensen was obvious. It was so obvious that the camera picked up on it, so the people who watched what the camera created picked up on it too, which spurred an enormous fanbase between a relationship that didn't yet technically exist until Jeremy finally gave the go-ahead for it two weeks ago. It was years in the making in front of the camera, but behind the camera it was still something pointedly ignored, known but unspoken, because that's what real life _was_. One could be attracted to their coworkers, one could befriend their coworkers, but one, for obvious reasons, should never _fuck_ their coworkers. Acting was a job like any other. Misha knew that if he wanted to survive this endeavor, it had to be hands-off the hot straight guy with the gayest mannerisms _ever_. As tempting as it sometimes was.

Of course, that didn't keep Jensen from being all handsy _all the time_ with him, but that was another actor thing, always being in other people's personal spaces, always touching and smiling.

Being on this set was so much like high school, Misha was surprised he didn't have flashbacks. He got bullied the same way, got picked on by the boy who had a secret crush on him in order to pathetically uphold his poorly-formed sense of masculinity, and was judged behind his back for his "weirdness," but the difference was that they were all, supposedly, _adults_. With wives. And children. Which simultaneously made everything more complicated yet so much more bearable, because unlike high school, Misha found himself more often exasperated than hurt by anything that happened to him.

He just wanted to wrap up a given day and go home to Skype with his family.

If Misha's sense of intuition was worth its weight, he had a sinking feeling that everything was about to come crashing down around him all because of one scene.

"Cut!" he called to Jared and Mark, finally pleased with their final take. "Jared, would you mind going to get Jensen? We're ready for the next scene."

Jared couldn't hide the glare that crept behind his eyes, and Misha smirked, because no matter how many times Jared took the fabric out from the seat of the director's chair, Misha never got tired of being able to boss him around.

***

"Action!" Misha called, and now Jensen was facing him, staring him right in those haunting blue eyes, knowing it was Castiel looking at him and not Misha.

And now he was tasked with remembering his lines.

God, the lights were so fucking _bright_. Were they normally this bright? Was it normally so hot in the studio? Jensen felt like his makeup was melting off his face.

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean said, and Jensen was grateful for whatever capacity his subconscious had for storing his lines and speaking them aloud without much thought. "You can't just keeping _leaving_ like that, man! We're family!"

"I didn't abandon you, Dean," Castiel replied in his rough voice, thankfully so much different than Misha's.

The set, the costumes, the props all helped the sense of illusion, the fact that they were Dean and Cas right now. The silence of the crew— sparse but for the handful of people allowed to know what was happening— suspending the disbelief even further.

Dean had Cas against the wall, trench coat balled in his fists, desperate for some explanation as to why Cas went off the deep end yet again, another miscommunication, because it was the tenth fucking season and all the tropes were tired.

He didn't write the damn show. He just acted in it. And, on occasion, fixed it when it sucked particularly badly.

Now was not one of those times, though.

Apparently Jensen had gone too long staring into Misha's eyes, because Castiel repeated, "I didn't abandon you, Dean."

Jensen was pretty sure there was another line there, but before he lost his gall, he leaned in and crushed their lips together.

It wasn't the magical moment he had anticipated. It was kind of... normal. Like kissing any other actor.

Then Castiel threaded his fingers in Dean's hair and opened his mouth, and _oh holy God_ , the way Misha tasted and smelled and felt writhing against his body, the way he controlled the kiss, guided Dean's or Jensen's or whoever's mouth was electric. It was like a current zipping through his body. It was heady and intense, the rough slide of stubble against his face preventing him from his usual practice of pretending he was kissing Danneel. He'd kissed men before, sure, but this was different. This was like kissing, well, an angel, as dumb as that sounded, and who the fuck knew if it was Misha kissing him or if he was just that good of an actor that the man could _kiss_ like a fallen angel could kiss.

Cas pushed Dean away, and they broke apart, staring again at one another. Cas's lips were parted and red and swollen. His pupils were dilated and his breath was slightly ragged. Jensen figured his own face didn't look much different.

After a beat, Misha yelled, "Cut!" and stepped out of Jensen's grasp, trotting over to the camera and asking, "How did that look?"

***

Thank Buddha that Misha was directing so that he could steer clear of facing whatever... _that_ was.

Misha was capable of doing a lot of crazy shit, but staring down the face of a potential gay meltdown was not something he signed up for.

Vicki's voice rang in his ears. _"You're projecting, love."_

So what if he was just as freaked out? He had every right to be. A for-all-intents-and-purposes straight guy harboring an obvious secret crush on him just kissed him in front of a dozen people, _on camera_ , to be seen in turn by millions.

And it was Misha's job to make sure it looked just right.

He stood behind the camera and watched the reel play back the take. Jensen missed two lines, which was so unlike him, that _alone_ was enough to tell Misha that something was wrong, but the take still looked great, if Misha's physical reaction had anything to say about it.

Misha had a decision to make.

He could use this take, which was so pure and so _emotional_ that he was sure they'd use it for the final cut...

Or he could kiss Jensen Ackles again.

After a pause, he announced, "Let's go again," and ran back to the set.

Perhaps Misha was more selfish than he thought.

He got back into position, toeing the blue lines of tape that showed him where to stand.

Jensen was still frozen on the spot, a makeup artist at his side fixing his hair and finishing up to fix Misha's before the next take. He was staring down at his tattered, folded script, mouthing his lines.

The paper was shaking slightly.

Interesting. _Very_ interesting.

Misha wouldn't be Misha if he didn't take this opportunity to push the boundaries a bit. Maybe Vicki was right and he was projecting his own emotional repressions onto Jensen. Maybe this was a petty revenge tactic for all the merciless pranks. Or maybe Misha was just really tired of Jensen always having the upper-hand.

Regardless, he called action and started the scene over.

"I didn't abandon you, Dean," Misha said in Cas's voice. Even after all these years, it strained him. By the end of every workday, his throat ached. He almost wished his initial three-episode arc had really stayed just three episodes, because otherwise he would have gone a completely different direction with his conception of the character.

Thankfully, Jensen remembered the rest of his lines.

"Yeah? Then what the hell was that?" he asked, cheeks tingeing pink under the thin layer of foundation. It wouldn't be something the camera picked up for regular television or the DVDs, but the HD and blu-ray edits would definitely show it.

Cas looked away, pausing before replying, "I didn't want you to know."

"So you lied."

"For your safety, Dean. I did what I had to."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Jensen's piercing green eyes blank but for the anger and ferocity that was completely Dean Winchester. He did this often. Whereas Misha learned his lesson from _Karla_ — never again letting himself get so in character that he lost himself— he could see Jensen struggle with it constantly. It had nothing to do with his capacity as an actor. No one could deny that Jensen was an incredibly talented man, but he was a perfectionist at heart, to the point where he was willing to lose his own identity for the sake of the realism of his characters.

It was as terrifying as it was magical.

When Jensen missed his cue, Misha adlibbed, "To protect you."

Jensen, or Dean, snapped out of whatever space he'd been in and reached forward again, gripping the lapels of Cas's trench coat in hand and dragging them close together, gazing down at him for a brief moment before sliding their lips together once more.

Like the first time, Cas took control of the kiss. Like the first time, Misha added heat to it for the sake of the camera. Unlike the first time, though, he crossed a few lines.

Misha nipped at Jensen's lower lip, so subtly he knew the camera wouldn't catch it, knew that Jensen knew it was just for him, just for _them_ , a private moment wrapped inside a public one.

Jensen broke character, gasping minutely, pausing in a tiny moment of hesitation before slamming Misha against the wall of the set and sliding his fingers in his hair, mussing it up worse than the hairstylists intentionally made it. He pulled slightly, and it was Misha's turn to break character, groaning into Jensen's mouth, grabbing him at the hips and pulling him in.

Whatever was happening was probably bordering on mildly pornographic. They definitely wouldn't accept this take, because Jensen went beyond breaking the character of Dean, he was breaking the persona of Jensen himself, his carefully constructed visage he maintained at all times. Underneath the model-esque, bright white smiles and perfectly composed demeanor was a beast who was more like Dean Winchester than Dean himself, which is how the character was so wildly successful. Without knowing it, Jensen had constructed a fictional being from truth.

That was what art was, after all: truth wrapped in lies.

That was what this kiss was turning out to be, too. A tiny moment of reality, projected on screen to be consumed.

Maybe that should have made Misha uncomfortable, but he'd always been kind of an exhibitionist anyway.

With any luck, he and Jensen would be able to give their fans what they craved, an emotion they wouldn't otherwise feel in the humdrum of day-to-day life.

That was what this was all about, when it came down to it. GISHWHES, Random Acts, all of it. It was all about nudging people out of their comfort and complacency, urging them to feel and do and live, for the sake of kindness and love and everything else that made life worth living.

It might feel amazing to Misha personally to be kissing the most attractive man he'd ever laid eyes on, who also happened to be incredibly intelligent and talented and amazing in his own right, and yeah, maybe their feelings for one another were a bit deeper than purely platonic, but for Castiel and Dean, this was so much more. For their fans, this was the most important moment of the last ten years.

Misha couldn't let himself forget that. As wonderful as it was, this was for them, not him.

Jensen was the one who broke the kiss this time, blinking away the blatant heated desire in his eyes to opt again for Dean's perpetually more anxious demeanor.

Misha's jaw was a bit slack, and he might have forgotten where they were and what they were doing while they stared at each other as Cas and Dean, or _fuck_ , maybe it was Misha and Jensen. He didn't know anymore. Normally he was so good about compartmentalizing, but his mind was fuzzy and drawing a blank. He couldn't remember if he had another line.

Then Jensen leaned in and kissed him again, and everything went out the window.

This one felt _personal_. It felt private, yet they both knew the cameras were still rolling, they knew the crew was eating this up, the passion resonating between them after years of downplaying it, neglecting it, repressing it.

Jensen licked into his mouth like he owned it, like Misha never thought someone as passive and, frankly, seemingly vanilla could do, but that just proved to him that Jensen was so much more than met the eye. He was just as weird as Misha. He was just better at hiding it.

He was used to fitting into the norm, whereas Misha worked hard every day of his life to defy it.

It felt like Jensen was finally defying it too, sliding his leg between Misha's and pinning him to the wall, running his hand up the side of his face and cradling it. The kiss was gentler than Dean would ever kiss Cas, and that's how Misha knew this one was real.

It was as frightening as it was heady, and he was completely overwhelmed until Jensen abruptly broke away, gazing down at him, wide-eyed and panicked before he did something he'd never done before.

Jensen took a step back, breathing deep and regaining his composure, before turning around and storming offstage.

***

Ten years out the goddamn window.

Jensen knew there would be hell to pay for storming off set like he was Christian fucking Bale, like he got paid enough to be a snob, a stereotypical spoiled brat of an actor. He ran back to his trailer with his tail between his legs, and he hated himself for it.

He couldn't get this right. He couldn't force himself out of his own head so that Dean could kiss Cas. It had only been two takes, but that was enough.

Misha was going to ask him to do it again, but he just couldn't. The guy had directed episodes before, and for someone who was renowned to millions for being notoriously free-spirited, he was absolutely a fucking perfectionist when it came to anything work-related.

Normally, Jensen respected that about him— he would be a hypocrite to say he wasn't exactly the same way— but right now he couldn't handle it. He needed a break or else everything would come shattering down on him.

This was _absurd_. It was his damn _job_ to be someone else, to construct a real person from nothing. Someone else might write the words he spoke, but Jensen was the one who brought them to life. He adopted new mannerisms, new facial expressions, new demeanors and reactions and—

Oh God, what was happening to him? Why couldn't he make his heart slow down? Why was he still fucking _shaking_?

There was a light rap on his trailer door.

" _What_?" he asked, voice tight and clipped, completely deviating from his usual calmness.

"It's me," said a familiar voice behind the door.

His shoulders slumped. No matter what was happening, there were three people on this planet he could be himself around, even if he sometimes didn't know who that was. He was thankful one of them was behind the door.

Sitting down on the couch and cradling his face in his hands, he mumbled, "You can come in, Mish."

Misha opened the door and walked inside, closing it gently behind him. "Hey," he said after a moment, crossing his feet and hands in that weird, childish way he had, shoulders hunched like he was always afraid of being hit.

And maybe he was. And maybe that hurt Jensen to know.

It felt so fucking petty. He couldn't do this simple task, and here he was being consoled by a man who had been through hell and back in a way no one else could possibly fathom, and through it all, he came out the other side wanting nothing but to spread kindness and happiness. Jensen wanted to become an actor because that's what his father wanted him to do. His own fucking idol complex overran the more sensible career option of being a physical therapist, and for the longest time, he didn't understand the difference between loving himself and being loved by fans. He thought they were the same fucking thing, until he met Danneel and realized that the way other people saw him was no substitute for the way she saw him, the way he should see himself.

That was what he loved so much about her, along with everything else: she called him out on his bullshit more than anyone else could, saw through all the layers and loved whatever the hell was inside of him.

Misha could, too, but unlike Danneel— who was the kind of person with whom he always knew exactly where he stood— he had no idea what Misha really thought of him, if he judged what was underneath all the layers or accepted him, loved or hated him. He couldn't stand the feeling of being constantly appraised. He felt like he was always bouncing from foot to foot trying to appease Misha while also somehow condemning him, and he was honestly surprised the guy hadn't quit the fucking show yet.

Then again, maybe that was just how he was used to being treated.

"Hey," Jensen finally replied, looking down at his feet.

Misha crossed the tiny trailer and sat down on the couch next to Jensen, close enough that their knees were touching, and Jensen didn't move away. He was a physically affectionate person, always had been and always would be, so the tiny gesture comforted him in the way that words probably couldn't.

Jensen looked up at Misha, whose hands were crossed reversed between his knees, looking more like a nervous twelve year old than a forty year old man fully capable of leading the free world. He knew he didn't have to lead into his question. He knew Misha would understand in the same way he seemed to understand everything.

"How do you and your wife do this?" he asked, because that's what this really all came down to.

Misha shrugged, but met his gaze, blue eyes boring into him in that unnerving way that always managed to send a chill down Jensen's spine. "Do you love Danneel?"

"Yes," he replied with a slight nod.

Misha hesitated, still not breaking eye contact, then asked, voice slightly quieter, "Do you love me?"

Jensen answered as surely as he did the first question, which surprised him. "Yes."

"That's all there is to it, then. The human heart is infinite."

Jensen looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees, and nodded.

Misha reached out and took one of them, threading their fingers together. They weren't wearing their wedding rings, but he knew they kept them both in their pockets while filming, and put them back on at the end of the day.

Jensen swallowed, and asked, tentative, "How many people are you in love with?"

"Two," Misha replied casually, as though that answer didn't break Jensen's entire reality.

"What happened to that girl you were seeing?"

"We broke up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Misha sighed. "It's okay. It was good while it lasted. When the lust ran out, she moved on. We're all still friends, though."

"So it's just me and Vicki, then?"

"Yep."

Jensen nodded, thankful that the makeup on his face hid the blush spreading up to his cheeks. After a short silence, he said, "You know I have to talk to Danneel about this."

"I know."

"And you know she's going to want to fuck you."

Jensen could hear the smile on Misha's face as he replied, "I know."

Cocky bastard.

They were silent a long time, and Jensen was thankful for Misha's hand in his own, warm and strong and steadying him, guiding him to a kind of life he never thought he'd seek.

"Okay," Jensen said, standing. "Let's go finish this scene."

Misha stood, smiling that big smile of his that everyone fell in love with, and maybe Jensen fell a bit in love with it too. He wrapped Jensen into a hug, and they stood there a moment, embracing, as coworkers and friends and whatever the hell they were now, which ran so much deeper than the few words exchanged between them indicated.

Jensen broke away and grinned back at him, feeling like an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders.


End file.
